Ash Lilies
by Finnimbrun
Summary: Pein and Konan drabbles from the s - u drabble meme. Various scenarios. Ratings will be K - M. PeinxKonan.
1. Chapter 1

Explanation: over at url **www (dot) livejournal (dot) com / community / silent_union / 19888 (dot) html**, there's an ongoing Pein and Konan drabble meme started by my friend, **paperninja** (**Winter Weatherman** on FFN). I encourage any prospective PK writers to come drabble with us. It is a meme centered on adult sexual relations between Pein and Konan, but drabbles don't have to be sexual; in fact, they can be G-rated, if you prefer. The focus on sexuality comes because we've made the observation that Pein and Konan are often portrayed as extremely chaste and asexual in 'fics, and while non-sexual fics are fine and everything (I myself often write gen), there's no reason PK can't be in a consenting adult sexual relationship. So over the next few days, I will be posting my drabbles from this meme. Enjoy!

disclaimer: Don't own _Naruto_. Make no profit from ficcing. Standard fanfic disclaimers apply.

**drabble # 1** -- rating: (M for sexuality)

_this, our world;_

* * *

It's like a grind.

Between heavenly beings; heavenly bodies.

And she comes apart at the seams.

A grind -- not fast, not violent. The slowness makes her ache, throb inside with need like an unscratched itch, gasp around the wet words.

No, Konan thinks. Not _apart at the seams_. She comes together, because her heart races and her body tightens – tightens, tightens.

There is no violence here, in the clean white room with the clean white sheets.

A grind: God's violence restrained – and the pace has this slowness, a lull that is not a crescendo – with their locked hips, motions in and out, steadysteadysteady while the pressure builds.

Builds, and --

"_Oh,"_ Konan says, suddenly. A sound – not a word, not a thought; then his mouth over hers, drinks out all her sounds, the gasps and the pleas; her lungs swallow them down while the pressure builds; fills in the emptiness, her legs around Pain's waist, crying out into his mouth, and his tongue in hers, filling up all her emptiness.

Sweat-slick, rocking to that pace like a boat in opposite winds; back, forth, back, all those muscles dragging over the soft places on her belly; little metal piercings prickling her breasts with red spots. Her skin is sensitive, arousal-flushed with a pink glow, new.

Her fist finds his hair, digs in, legs tightening, pulling deeper; slides, slips, and when their mouths part for air he sighs against her. _Ahh,_ like the whisper of his rain, _God's blessing. _Wordless.

The half-light of evening shades twilit blue.

And he is in her is in him.

Grinding her under his weight and his scent and his feelings; pestle to mortar.

Pestle to mortar to God to angel to he who is in her is in him, then her arms around his shoulders; breath on her neck, where he pants against the vein; she squeezes skin, digs nails in. _Faster,_ she thinks. Like a wave to the shore.

She breaks – clamps down and _keeps_ clamping down. Squeezes him and chokes on mouthfuls of unformed thought.

Impossible to tell where one orgasm ends, where another begins.

His hand on her cheek, her eyes upturned, half-lidded. And he stares down.

He can see everything.

In this moment, she knows, he can only see her.

Pulsing, looking into the rippling eyes, where his lashes drip wet with sweat beads and his mouth opens, twists at the sensations.

She coaxes, caresses, whispers, and he settles in deep.

Shudders into her.

And this, she thinks, in the fuzzy aftermath, still gripping him tightly when he does not collapse, is correct. Together. One in the other. Grinding each other to ecstasy until all the nerves give way, unravel or scorch a slow burn, cut one another to beautiful paper ribbons, where pain blooms to pleasure.

Konan stares at the ceiling, holds his hot body, and thinks:

Soon, the everything he sees will be his.

And the world, opened – their world – forever.


	2. Chapter 2

(please excuse any random switching of Pein and Pain in these drabbles O_o; I have friends who use both or either)

disclaimer: I don't own _Naruto_, and I make no profit from fanficcin'.

**drabble #2** -- rating: (T) for implied sexuality

_all the king's men; forever and never together again  
_

* * *

It's after the apocalypse, and there are flowers in the air.

Bits of flowers, specifically; ash lilies and ash dandelions that drift in the upwelling currents of heat.

The world is on fire.

The dust is in Konan's hair.

Grey and black sprinkle her, as she walks through the forests, where the trees are tall and the leaves are green, and it's nothing like Amegakure; nothing like home. But now, everywhere is home.

She finds Pain waiting for her, with his eyes lowered.

And she tries to speak, but fails to know what to say.

"It's almost over," he says.

Time is short.

Almost over. Beginning, ending. Everywhere and nowhere. Life and death. All these absolutes. It is after the apocalypse – the second apocalypse, that is. She remembers the first. Hanzou. Red flames licking up the black sky; blurry white stars tinted.

"It's almost over," he says, but she knows how it really ends.

"Your body," she says.

Your lifespan. Your health.

She reaches up to wipe the death from her hair, and he turns to look at her. _Your body_: her phrasing. It truly is, now.

They are going to the heart of the inferno; to hell itself. They will self-immolate, if they cannot stand the blaze.

All the sadness of Nagato's life on his face, stone still – drips down, fades away, the shadow and the ghost. His eyes are hard, rippling madly, like that day. Like ever. And she thinks, with a pang, to see those eyes, and to know what he goes through, but.

They do not talk about these things. They do not talk about the deaths. Or the fires. Pain extends his hand. Konan crosses the distance in one stride, two, four.

The beginning of the end could be the paradox or the truth. She isn't sure.

He isn't sure. Even though he's bringing the world down with assurances, and with power. He isn't sure.

And the orphans in the woods; his fingers, spread, and she takes his hand: grazes his ring with her thumbnail.

"I'm not done," he tells her. "Not until all the strong countries have been brought down to their knees."

"I know," she says.

"Not until I control the war."

Control the world; peace through suffering, rule all. She's heard, and the concentric circles seem to ripple outward. She watches him breathe out. He pretends, sometimes, not to breathe, or bleed.

They make love in the open, because no one will see them, and this is their world.

Anxious, tinged with desperation that he will not speak of; they shed their cloaks and make a bed of them on the forest floor. She kisses inside his thighs while he lies back.

"It will never be over," he says, just as her mouth hovers over him.

And she is surprised to hear it.

"I've known that for a long time, Nagato," she admits, quietly, relaxes her throat, and takes him between her lips.

She's on top for this round, so her back curves sharply and her toes curl, and her rhythm is graceful; a languid up and down that quickens with their need. There's something of an apology to it, but she won't have that. "I chose this," she reminds him, in as much as she can speak.

It will never be over. The beginning and the ending; not until Pain tears himself to pieces to exhaust all his hatred, but Konan will go with him. She fears nothing: she has always been in pieces.

Afterwards, he pulls her down, grounds the angel, and they lie together, wide-eyed, in the forest at the end of the earth, where the last birds sing in the last trees.

The world quietens as they quieten, in the realization that it's not enough. It's still not enough.

"There isn't the peace I wanted, yet," he says, and when she kisses him, she tastes how dry his mouth is.

Sees the blankness in his eyes, and knows.

There is no peace.

There never was.

There never will be.

He rises first. Dresses again, and prepares to go – to seek further destruction and retaliation. She looks on and knows she will be joining him soon. They will go together.

Some kind of peace, she thinks, with a shaking fist; some kind of peace, in between the spaces of moments, in the more fragile corners of their lives, in their memories, but it will be over soon. And it will never be over. Paradox, maybe.

The angel finds her wings, lifts beyond the last birds in the last trees. It's only a matter of time before the fires do to her paper flower what they have done to the real ones.

It is their world. Together, they will go to pieces.


	3. Chapter 3

disclaimer: I don't own _Naruto_, and I make no profit from fanficcin'.

First attempt at Pein PoV this time around. I wanted to make him seem a little otherworldly and mystic -- as in, he doesn't think quite as a normal person would think?

**drabble #3 - **rating: (T) for like, a line of sexuality

_who holds the God_

* * *

The dead eyes look up to him from the machine.

He cannot look into them.

The body of The One He Came From, in six pieces – head, arms, legs, and torso. Tubes and metal connect the pieces, bind them; the form is mutilated, lacerated with sores, dying.

Bloody piece of meat, sterilized and surrounded by the mechanical – by the fake. Its eyes are still bright.

Pain looks down.

He knows – she tells him – that the rinnegan and the technology and the six bodies have re-wired his neural pathways, have done something to him; have fed the thing inside, where the quiet wrath awaits in the dark soil, ready to be nourished by his rain.

He does not touch the body.

She calls him by this name sometimes. Nagato.

It's afterwards, usually, when they're together in bed and her head is to his chest.

He lets it go, this name. Lets it drift through the current of mind; tiny nuances flash and flicker behind his eyelids, goosebumps on his forearms, like something stirs and rises out of the depths.

Konan, he calls her. He uses her name often.

It grounds him – in a world where he glimpses the colours of chakra and twelve points of vision and the individual droplets of rain, crystallized and magnified; he sees all the angles of the architecture, knows them intimately; knows the billows of the clouds.

And every inch of her.

He knows the pain. Remembers it; it disperses now, into all of the atmosphere, all through all of him when he watches from the ledge. Blends.

Seven spikes through his ears, three spikes through his nose to six points, two on his lips; black anchors in each body drag them down, stick in the flesh and make it remember. Konan makes him remember.

He will answer to the identity of this form, if someone recognizes it.

There was Nagato the name, and the person in the mirror, the pain, the sense of something more and deeper, Amegakure, and her. And he does not wonder what he is, because he is _God_.

God has existed forever.

Some days, a reminder comes up out of that deep place, and disturbs him. Jiraiya-sensei. And he remembers again.

"We'll move, soon," he tells her, when they're shaken.

Konan. The letters anchor him, more than the piercings.

She has existed in his world, forever.

The rinnegan; one loop, then another. Eternal, endless, like them, as their bodies come together again and again, as he sinks into her hot wetness, and _feels_.

They curl up afterwards; she inhales deeply, he cups her breast and looks over her shoulder. Stares out the window and recalls the world, and thinks of all the large countries crushing the weak. That deep dark place where the powerful crushed the weak. And something died.

The ability to care about the meaning of this destruction died.

It tastes bitter.

Their power, their war: the taste is still in his mouth.

Runs down all his pathways in all his bodies and the mind hidden behind the rain thinks and turns in the tumult; _you'll feel it, and you'll suffer; you went against God_.

Suffering in everything, he tells her. Thinks about. Dreams about.

"It's only a matter of time," he murmurs.

He's imagining from how many angles he will see the light – when the ultimate weapon of the Bijuu fills the heavens and God's fist closes upon nations. A thought: anticipation. Mingling in his mouth with the taste of the war, and it's even more bitter.

"Nagato," she says.

Her voice brings his eyes to her.

Flesh, warm, soft shampoo smell and powder; the rinnegan traces the corners of the papers that flutter over her cheeks; her eyes heavily lined with kohl and bruised shadow.

Nagato, he thinks; not entirely dissipated. That bloody flesh, and those memories (he knows), but Nagato will die for each pound of flesh, each shortening of his lifespan, until Nagato is gone, but now she holds him. Cradles him with her familiarity. Konan.

She has always been here.

He rubs his nose to the flower in her hair.

They stand together and look down.

_And soon,_ he says, _we'll hunt the fox_.

His hand on the machine; steady, feeling the body's heartbeat go through all of him.

_There's another body at the gate, even now,_ he says. _I can see_.

_I'll go,_ Konan says.

Leaves him staring at the chaos in his mind.

She puts him back together again, every time.


	4. Chapter 4

disclaimer: I don't own _Naruto_, and I make no profit from fanficcin'.

thanks for the reviews. to answer a review: I assume Konan uses some kind of birth control (herbal) or perhaps jutsu to keep from any accidental pregnancies.

**drabble #4 - **rating: (M) for being more immediately sexual in this drabble

_fuck the pain away  


* * *

  
_

She knows how to angle her hips when on her back.

When on her knees, Konan bites her lip; licks the piercing, grips the sheet and grips him. The faster he thrusts, the harder the sweaty metal strikes her most sensitive spot, near where her third piercing is.

The vibrations make her tremble, almost fall down on her weight.

Pein must have a kind of sense of humor, but you wouldn't recognize it.

Sunlight breaks through the clouds, flashes golden amusement over the silvered eyes. She opens for him. He holds her long legs, eases them apart, and laps silently at her, rubs the roughness of his tongue and his smooth ball piercing to her stud, closes his lips around it and bites down. Sucks softly.

She reaches down, presses her fingers in, and he teases; sucks her breasts and hardening nipples, dips his tongue into her navel and strokes circles through the sweat pooling on her belly, pushes between her slender thighs with his own more muscular one.

And pins her wrists, to keep the paper angel from floating away.

She leans up, suddenly, grabs hold of his earlobe with her teeth and her tongue slithers up and down the metal.

(Which wins a groan; a loud one, this time)

_We're inside,_ she says. _But still --_

_We're wet, love,_ she thinks, and arches so hard it hurts --

As he shoves two black-nailed fingers into her.

_Indeed,_ he replies.

(Eyes still laughing)

Stretches her, scissors, and pulls them out, to leave her panting, massages her swollen lips until she _throbs_, and lifts his fingers to his mouth, expression unchanging.

Sucks them, slowly, one and then the other.

(She watches; almost purrs to see it, feeling hazy and smug and drunk, feeling the smirk that her mouth hides.)

The shine of her lingers on the snakebites as he crosses the distance, climbs up her body, and seals them in a kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

disclaimer: I don't own _Naruto_, and I make no profit from fanficcin'.

thanks for the reviews! I appreciate them. :)

**drabble #5 - **rating: (K+) for some adult content

_i'd fly away [without your gravity_]

_

* * *

  
_

Konan leaves the tower more frequently, goes on missions, and communicates with the people.

She is safe in the knowledge that God is watching over her.

One such mission gives Pein his _Asura_ form; it is simple information gathering, performing surveys hidden beneath a rice hat, when she looks up and sees --

An ambush. Someone is invading Amegakure; _again_.

Explosions, people fleeing through the streets, and Konan sees the enemy nin – realizes, somehow, that it isn't _human_. She manages the hand signs; her jutsu transforms her to paper such that the missile passes straight through her. Burns a few scraps. She can create others.

She brings parts of her body together again, preparing a lance against her opponent, but before she can strike, the body explodes. Crumbles, more precisely, as if its weight caused it to implode.

She looks to the sky, to the top reaches of the tower which she cannot properly see, and smirks, ever so faintly.

--

Preparing the bodies leaves her hands covered with gore, usually, but not this one. For this one, it's oil. The location of each piercing is plotted specifically; she figures out where each should go with graph paper and a blunted pencil. Chews hard and breaks it, and actually hears Pein, behind her, say, "That's bad for you."

She looks back, but he's just standing there, with his usual blankness-that-is-not-blankness.

There are days when Pein initiates physical contact. Other times (when things with Akatsuki do not go well), his arms are crossed and his body language is closed off, and Konan likes to stand behind him and stroke her cheek over his shoulders – to feel him relax, gradually.

She has an especial fondness for his hair.

It has become _his_ hair, too: no one else's.

She runs her fingers through it, gently scrapes her nails beneath the hairline. It's softer than it looks.

Some days, when she feels playful and more like she felt long years before, she comes over him – a swarm of butterflies. And there's an irony there: the God who will destroy the world and shake its foundations; the world's most powerful shinobi, standing in a cloud of white butterflies, and seeming content to do so.

She loves being the one to make him relax.

The truth is, there are still bits of what they were before in the both of them, but only she can touch this in him, and only he can touch this in her.

The people worship him. They don't know if he really exists, but they worship him. Konan hears all about it.

"They were being troublesome again, today," she whispers, when he pulls her to him. "Weren't they?"

"You saw," he says.

"I did. But it's over now."

An Akatsuki gathering: those can be hell. Pein does not like to play that role – Madara's role. He does, though. For them. So they can maintain their way of life.

"_He_ isn't making it any easier," Pein says.

Konan sighs.

Right. "Tobi". Deidara. Hidan. Hidan, especially. Troublemakers. She has little use for them.

"I killed all the invaders," he says. "Crushed them."

Literally: gravity.

"Someday, the invasions will end."

But someday soon, the both of them will have to go out into the world – into its far reaches, to enact the change they seek. They've been up in the sanctuary of this tower for a long time. The God is restless. The angel watches him.

"The final stand."

She loves looking into his eyes, forever re-acquainting herself with them. She leans up on her toes – thinks, for a moment, about the shinobi she killed today and the spray of warm red blood over her origami, dismisses the thought – and kisses at the side of his mouth; does not stop when his lips refuse to part and when he stands there, mouth a perfect line. Kisses until he kisses back.

Kisses until he pushes her down on the large, formless sofa-chair.

She will never stop marveling at how such a reserved person can be so intense, as he wrestles the flower from her hair and the cloak from her shoulders, never breaks eye contact, and makes love to her for what feels like a small eternity, pouring all his pent up energy into her, until the discontentment and the concerns bleed away for the time being.

So it is, she thinks. If only it could remain this way, always. But life is change.

And soon, time will see them at the ultimate conclusion, one by the other's side, to decide the fate of the world.


End file.
